The Wistful Silence

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2026-08-25 12:41:48 -

The iron key was cold, biting into the meat of my palm, its weight a dull ache that traveled up my wrist. I stood in the courtyard of the Blackgate outpost, the mist clinging to the stone walls like wet wool, while Captain Halloway sharpened his sword against a whetstone, the rasp a sharp, rhythmic counterpoint to the wind. He did not look up. "You have three days, Silas," he said, his voice...

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